Mama, I'm in love with the criminal
by theangelandthegod
Summary: AU: Sam Winchester is Sam Smith, and FBI Agent who's attention has just been addressed to Dean Winchester, notorious murderer and thief. Sam needs to do his job, no matter what. Pairings: JessxSam / SamxDean. I've moved this fic over to AO3, username is Castielwinchester 3
1. Cocky Son of a Bitch

_Before you read this fic, you need to watch this video. _

_the-archangel-seraphina . tumblr . c o m _

_post/43574936380/i-found-it-criminal-is-being-covered-by_

_The entire fic is based from this, and it's beautiful._

Sam looked at his watch, and sighed. It was 11pm, and the lights were slowly shutting down in the building. He drained the last of his coffee - it was stone cold. He frowned and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, closing the file he was reading about some drugs bust shit he had to do the paperwork for - even though he wasn't even involved. An officer got killed, and they somehow managed to blame it on Sam. Sam pushed the chair away from his desk, grabbing his jacket from the back as he shut the file in his desk drawer, stretching a little as he walked out, closing the door and turning the lights out on his way out. He was too tired to even notice the name on the file. _**Dean Winchester.**_

When he got back home Jess was already asleep, and he took off his tie and slung it over the chair in their bedroom, followed by his shirt. He unbuckled his belt silently and took his suit pants off, putting them on a hanger and hanging them up in their closet. He pulled back the sheets and slid into bed beside Jess, his arms wrapping around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder and he closed his eyes, and tried to get some sleep.

Sam Smith had a normal life. He grew up with his Mother and Father in Kansas, unfortunately his mother died in a house fire when he was a baby, but he still had his Dad. He'd always felt like a disappointment to his Dad, he wanted Sam to become a mechanic like him, the family business. Sam went to law school, and ended up as an FBI detective. Not too bad, actually. In his first year of law school he met Jess, and they fell in love and moved in together. A few months ago Sam proposed, and she said yes. She was just...she was perfect. He didn't know what he'd do without her. He woke up to the smell of bacon, and a wide grin spread across his face as he swung his legs along the side of the empty bed and padded into the little kitchen, scratching his bare chest as he sat in a stool alongside the countertop. He completely dwarfed it, and his feet reached the floor to the point where he may as well of been standing up. "Morning, Jess.." He yawned, smiling up at his fiancé who grinned back, looking up from the pan for a moment. "You sleep okay?" She asked and Sam nodded in reply, "Sorry I came in kinda late. This new case.." He shakes his head, "This guy, he's crazy. So get this," Sam looks up, running a hand through his tangled mop of hair, "Mail fraud, credit card fraud and grave desecrations. " Jess cringes, crinkling her nose up which Sam finds adorable, "Sweetie, not at breakfast. Here.." Sam holds out his plate and Jess spatulas on a fried egg, a couple pieces of bacon and some mushrooms, to which Sam smiles. Jess serves up her own and they eat together, discussing the day ahead.

He arrived at work bang on time, of course, and sat down his desk, raising an eyebrow at the stack of new paperwork on his desk. _**Winchester, Dean. Breaking and Entering.**_This guy really just doesn't know when to stop, does he? Sam jokes to himself, leafing through the file as he picks up his ID and tucks it in the pocket of his jacket, bringing the file with him as he walks down to his car, driving off to interview the witness' of this breaking and entering. Dean's face was watching him from the file the entire drive. The witness' had hardly any useful information, and what Sam took down he didn't think would be useful at all. Yes, it was the same man as the picture, No we're not any closer to finding him. _Thank you_ for your time.

"Well that was a fucking waste of my time.." Sam grumbled as he slammed the door to his car, firing the engine and pulling out of the house's driveway. On the 20-minute drive back to the office, he was thinking over the cases in his head. Grave Desecrations was the only one that bothered him, he's seen lots of fraud and burglars before. What's dead should stay dead, and stay buried. He shuddered a little, who the hell would dig up corpses? And from the reports, the bones were charred and covered in traces of Sodium Chloride. It was sick. As soon as he got back to the office he got to work. He cleared his pin board from the last, solved case and put up Dean's Mugshot in the middle, as a start. He then put up a map near it, and connected all of the locations with the different reports of what crimes he committed there. Attempted murder in St Louis...Sam pinned up the report, raising an eyebrow when it said Dean was reported dead. Obviously not. Then, carefully with string, he connected it with St Louis on the map. Sam did this with the various credit card frauds under his many aliases', J. Mahoggoff, Jerry Garcia, John Smith, Donald Strump, etc. After that, that's where the real work started. He went onto the police database and printed off every single thing even remotely related to Dean Winchester. Even about his Brother, although Dean reported him as missing a few months ago. Anonymously, of course. But the FBI weren't idiots.

The arrogant face looked out at Sam from the screen, his eyes stone cold and his chin tilted up high. He looked like a cocky son of a bitch, he was almost sneering.

**Name:** Dean Winchester

**DOB:** January 24th, 1979

**POB:** Lawrence, Kansas

**Height:** 6' 1"

**Weight:** 175 lbs.

**Hair:** Brown

**Eyes:** Brown/Green [Hazel]

_He also had a warrant in St. Louis, MO and an official record in the FBI database._

Sam shut the lid of his laptop, having Dean's eyes watching him was unnerving.

He began to sift through every file he had printed off, and there was a stack about 2 ft high. Shit.

[text] Working late on case. Don't wait up. xx

He sent the text to Jess and shoved the phone back in his pocket, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, loosening his tie. _**St Louis, charged with the attempted murder of... Rebecca Warren and the murder of Emily Stanley. Zach Warren originally charged, released.** _He remembered the photos from that case. Rebecca was tied to a chair, her skin cut all over but that cocky bastard still got away. After that there were the reports of stolen credit cards, and abnormalities in credit card bills. As in a middle aged married woman with children being charged for motels, bars and strip clubs across the country. Sam snorted, classy guy. He drew little circles on all of the places of incident, not seeing an pattern yet but it was worth a try.


	2. Milwaukee

Dean became his new obsession. Every morning Sam was early, which was surprising considering how late he came in and how little he slept. He all but lived at the office, and when he came home he spent hours and hours scouring police footage of him. His pin board grew and grew, finding little things that were linked to him that started to show a pattern. A fucking pattern is what Sam had been hoping for this time, that Dean had somehow screwed up and left him traceable because so far they had nothing. No leads on him. It's like he'd vanished.

His intense review of the breaking-and-entering footage was interrupted by Jess' hand on his shoulder. Sam jumped and shut the lid of his laptop, looking up and seeing her pretty pissed off face. "Sam. Bed." She commanded, sounding more like his mother than his fiancé. He rubbed the back of his neck and then his eyes, not realising how tired he was until he yawned heavily. "Exactly. I know this grave-perve case is important but so are you. And you can't do your best on 3 hours of sleep and red bull, Sam." She took his hand and tugged it softly, and Sam stood obediently, following her to their bedroom. "Do I have to undress you and tuck you in or can you do it?" She teased, and Sam pouted playfully and nodded, "I don't think I can do it all by myself, Jessy." Jess rolls her eyes but pulls his t-shirt off from over his head, pushing him down onto the bed because he was already wearing jogging pants. Sam laughs tiredly, pulling the covers up around him as she clambered into bed beside him, and he put one of his big arms around her, pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. He loved Jess, and little things, little moments like this made him remember that. He loved the smell of her shampoo, and the comforting curly craziness of her blonde hair. Her full lips.. Sam froze, and swallowed and blinked hard. The perfect pointed upper lip and full lower li- _**NO**_. _Shit shit **Oh God No**_. Only for a split second in his mind..._Dean's_ lips. He had been watching too much security footage, he thought, and he held Jess tight trying to forget. What the fuck was wrong with him, did he just...fantasise? No, no he damn well didn't. Sam clenched his jaw hard, in complete and utter denial of that split second. Lack of sleep and seeing his face too much, that's it. Nothing more.

He tried to act nonchalant and refreshed in the morning, which actually did fool Jess who was happy to see some life into him. The split second of the night before was buried deep, suppressed in his mind. What the hell was wrong with him? He was so completely distracted with patterns in his head that he poured coffee on his cereal, sending him and Jess into laughter. He stood after that, picking up his jacket from the couch, kissing Jess gently on the cheek, "Honey, I'll be late if I don't go now. I'll see you tonight." Jess nodded and leant in to softly kiss his lips, leaving sam smiling and glowing as he walked away. "I love you!" Sam called over his shoulder as he walked out of the front door, leaving Jess smiling as she tidied their little kitchen. He opened the door of his car and got inside, slamming the door behind him as he put the key in the ignition and started it. As soon as the car started, so did the radio. His brow furrowed, it was that freakin' awful song by Asia, Heat of the...something. He shrugs and changes the channel, pulling out of the driveway and into the road. Dean didn't crop up in his mind once.

When he got to work he immediately added all of the new data and extracts he refined last night to his slowly growing file of Dean. And, when he checked his e-mail, some of the feelers he had put out had responded. It was only a 2 second clip from some grocery store in Shorewood, Wisconsin. But it was definitely Dean, the man was the right build, and even had on the oversized leather jacket. Sam's eyes glinted with triumph briefly, and he printed off each frame and pinned the location on the board. He was good, he really was. Dean covered his tracks, went back on himself and would take the long way round just so he couldn't be tracked. But Sam was too, hell he was the best damn officer in that building. And if he couldn't lock that Son of a Bitch up for good then no one could. Dean never actually entered the store, but you could see him walk past one of the windows. It was grainy and black and white, but he...he winked at the camera? Sam didn't notice it, or at least it didn't register. Or he didn't want it to register.

Dean felt like his lungs were gonna explode.

He heard sirens, and he ran. That was now a natural instinct for Dean. Even if they weren't for him, even though they probably were.

Didn't even think.

He stopped a few minutes later, pressing up against the inside wall of an alleyway, waiting until he could no longer hear them. When the air was silent, he laughed. Dean looked around before stepping out, pulling out his phone - he changed it every other week, and sent a text to an unmarked number.

**Tonight.**

Then, he took the sim card out, flicked open his lighter and melted it before throwing it in a nearby trashcan. Dean dropped the phone onto the floor and crushed under the heel of his heavy boots. He picked up the remnants and stuffed them in the pocket of his leather jacket, checking quickly before walking out into the night. When he reached his motel, true to his word, there was a keycard in his bed, with a note. _Don't lose it, Idiot. _Dean could practically here the redneck twang in his head as he picked up the paper, crumpling it into a ball and stuffing that also in his pocket. He then went to the tiny bathroom that was surround with damp and mould, and burned the evidence, flushing the ashes down the toilet.

He didn't sleep, he just sat in the chair in the corner, flicking open and shutting his knife. Waiting for the right time.


End file.
